It was the end of the year thanksgiving service- usually the longest church service we have in a year. Different heads and departments would dance respectively to the altar with a crowd of members or visitors accompanying them- Daddy/Mummy G.O and family, pastors, choir department, ushers, intercessors, and even individuals who had booked their special thanksgiving session, prior.
At some point, I got exhausted from the hailing and periodic scream inspired in the congregation by the music transition- from western to “umu obiligbo” to “kosobabire” (both a representation of the Igbo and Yoruba tribal songs, individually).
It became a show for me as congregants faced themselves somewhat like a competition and attempted various dance steps to prove the best dancer probably in the sight of God.
I stopped joining the crowd to accompany the different heads. I had gone five rounds and had no other money to spend apart from the general offering. So, I waited for offering time as I rested my exhausted body on the armed chair.
The announcement I had been waiting for was finally made “Brethren, it’s time to give your offering to the Lord. Remember he has been so good and faithful to you and has seen you through from the beginning of this year to the end. Package a bountiful offering to say ‘baba thank you’ as the choir leads us in praise”.
Ushers took their places at the edge of different aisles to direct members in an orderly manner to the offering box situated before the altar.
Each row had nine chairs and I was seated on the fifth. A woman was seated by my right and another by my left. The music had begun as people danced joyfully to the altar. The usher got to our row and gestured to us.
We stood and filed out gently. As soon as we got out of our row, the woman in front of me broke loose and start ‘praising God with a dance’- a favourite phrase used in church.
Almost everyone displayed some dancing skills but this woman’s was exceptional. It appeared as though her buttocks were determined to ‘out-dance’ its carrier. In her satin-fitted gown, her buttock shook vehemently like a juggled bag of upshifted pap. I only could not hear the sound of the movement because of the loud music.
And my young man with a mind of his own kept throwing tantrums at my constraining thoughts.
What is more? I struggled to keep my eyes away from what was in front of me by holding the thought of rapture in my mind but she, being oblivious of my battle, continued giving prominence to her buttocks as she praises the Lord with dance. And my young man with a mind of his own kept throwing tantrums at my constraining thoughts.
I made it to the offering box and wanted to proceed; suddenly, this woman stood at a spot to express her intense gratitude to God. The members before her maintained their pace in moving forward so there was a gap before her.
For courtesy’s sake, I didn’t think it was okay for me to break the line and move past so I waited for her to the intensity of her passion to relax a bit so that the now stagnant line can proceed.
A striking Igbo song was raised and she moved forward, bent and shook her waist in awe of the terrific presence of glory she felt. It was the “egwu ukwu” dance. I thought she was making a progressive movement with that dance but as soon as I proceeded, she screamed and drew backward. Still praising.
This was beyond my control. Her soft, watery, and rounded buttocks got pinned to the heart of my little man. His blood flow increased and awoken the hungry lion. Then, the unimaginable happened right before the altar.
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